


Belate Valentine

by kybusan



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bondage, Consensual Kink, M/M, Misunderstandings, Neighbors, One Night Stands, Other, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-05-12 21:17:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19237267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kybusan/pseuds/kybusan
Summary: The last room to check was the one at the end of the corridor, leading to a bedroom. The door was a crack open, but no light was coming from it. Cautiously Ichigo opened the door fully, halfway expecting he wouldn't find something in there too. What he didn't expect was to learn something new about his neighbour.Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez was very much alive and into bondage.





	1. Amuse-Bouche

"That cock-loving sucker is all yours!"

This wasn't exactly how Ichigo Kurosaki had imagined his day to start. Or rather said his night. All he longed for was his bed and good, long sleep after that hell of a shift. He wasn't in the mood to deal with an angry neighbour. Wait, was she even a neighbour?

"I'm sorry, but who..."

"Tell him to never, ever call me again! Or I will cut off his friggin balls and feed them to him! And this time for real!"

He didn't react fast enough to catch the shimmering thing thrown at him. At least he had the decency not to growl at the high pitched intruder of his sleeping plans, who now stomped down the corridor as if she was about to murder someone. He just hoped the button on the elevator was strong enough to withstand her attempts to break that fucking thing. Ichigo didn't want to explain to all of his neighbours why they couldn't use the damn thing anymore. And then he recognised her. He had seen her, or rather parts of her. In that same elevator. Her legs slung around a waist. Her nails, scratching along broad shoulders. Her lips, half-parted, shimmering wet.

"Jaegerjaquez!"

He glanced down to his feet and there it was. The shimmering, silvery thing thrown at him. A simple keyring with two keys on it and a gothic six as a keychain. Indeed, Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez' key to his apartment. For a second or two, Ichigo was tempted to kick them down the corridor, to close his door and to go back to sleep as if this short interruption never had occurred. To just forget about this all.

But then he sighed and bent down to pick it up. Just to think of dealing with his neighbour in a couple of hours made his temples throb in an unhealthy manner. Slamming the door shut in his back, he stomped down the narrow hallway of his apartment and threw the keys to hell's reception into the wooden bowl on a small sideboard he used to collect all the things he usually had in his pockets. Sleep was his priority. He could deal with the asshole from apartment number 6 later on that day.

Entering his dark and cosy bedroom, he slipped out of the jeans he mindlessly had put on when all hell had broken loose at his front door and crawled into his still warm bed.

15 minutes later, he was back on his feet again and searched for a clean shirt. To hell with Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez, the spawn of all evil. Better to bring the keys to him right now, and, while at it, tell that fucking asshole he wasn't his personal dumper. Who knew when they would run into each other again. Ichigo's work wasn't really a nine-to-five job. On the other hand, Jaegerjaquez's schedule was, oddly enough, timed to perfection. Come to think of it, Jaegerjaquez never had told him what it was he did for a living. Nor had Ichigo asked, that night a couple of months ago, when he had desperately tried to cling on something, anything to just not fall apart.

The ringing bell of an opening elevator dragged Ichigo's fuming brain back to reality, and he realised, he hadn't put on any shoes. Frowning, he made some steps into the small cabin, his bare feet making odd sounds on the ground. Pushing the button to the next floor and watching the door silently closing, his stupid brain came up with, to his dismay, vivid pictures of that night. In the past, he had come up with all sorts of excuses for what had happened. No, excuse was the wrong term. Explanation fit better.

It wasn't in his nature. Really not. To go out, drink too much and end up with a stranger in an apartment that looked more or less like his own, only with more furniture in it. Unfamiliar furniture, but hell, his mind had been occupied with holding back any unmanly squeaks falling from his lips and trying to rationalise why he'd been given the blowjob of his life. To this day, He still couldn't remember when or where he had met this tall, good looking blue-haired man, or why they had ended in his living room, on that black leather couch. Or later on the kitchen counter, the corridor, or that bed.

What he could remember, quite clear, was the morning after. When he had been woken up to the gurgling sound of a coffee machine and an empty bed. He had dragged his bruised, but very satisfied, body from the warm sheets and had wondered for a split second, when it had been he had bought black satin linens. And then it had hit him. This wasn't his bedroom. This wasn't his apartment, although the layout was the same. He hadn't slept with a stranger, no, no. Stupid Ichigo Kurosaki had been laid by his neighbour.

A neighbour who obviously had forgotten his name, although he had growled it more than once in the past few hours. But the money for a taxi ride beside the short note on the kitchen counter probably had been even more insulting.

 _Hey_  
_Work's calling. There's coffee and some money for a taxi._  
_J_

The elevator's door slipped open, and Ichigo sighed, reluctant to leave the cabin. But then he pushed himself from the wall he had leaned on and stomped towards the door with the unique number six on it. Maybe he wasn't even at home? Maybe Ichigo just could leave the keyring at the door? Who was he kidding, it was a Monday. Oddly enough, Ichigo knew that his neighbour wasn't working on Mondays. One of the few things he had learnt since he had moved in and had settled down at his new home. And no, it wasn't because he was stalking the best lay he'd ever had. Living almost door to door had its advantages, so to speak.

For one, Ichigo knew that his neighbour had a rigorous routine. He left the building from Tuesday to Saturday at 11 o'clock in the morning and did not come back until midnight past. His car was always parked in the same spot and always facing the streets just so he could jump in and drive away. As strict as his day to day routine was, he was very carefree about any partner he brought with him. It happened more than just once that Ichigo bumped into intervened body parts. And it did not look as if his neighbour from hell had a preference.

His naked feet made tiny little squeaking sounds by approaching the door. The floor felt cold. The door looked intimidating.

'For fuck's sake. He's just a man you had sex with! And the reason you're not in bed where you should be!'

He raised his hand to knock and then Ichigo realised, the door wasn't closed. The fury must have banged the door so hard, it had sprung open again. Even better.

Pushing open the door and entering the apartment, Ichigo realised two things: the woman had her anger let out on probably every single breakable piece in that corridor, and he wouldn't be able to cross the narrow hallway without hurting his bare feet. But also, that his anger and hate towards the man and his carefree habit got replaced instantly with his professional attitude. The medic, used to all sorts of cruel scenes, kicked in. What if his neighbour was injured?

Tiptoeing his way carefully through the shards of a broken mirror, Ichigo entered the room with all senses sharpened. Diving under an old coat stander which was dividing the narrow hallway diagonally he pushed an old leather jacket to the side and cut his right hand on a piece of glass. He didn't really register the cut, all his attention was on a small photograph in a broken frame, halfway hidden by the jacket. It showed two kids, maybe between eight and twelve years old. The older girl with long green hair had a silly grin on her lips, sticking her tongue out and embracing the younger boy tightly. He had a dramatical expression on his face and Jaegerjaquez' unmistakable blue hair. Both looked dirty and ruffled as if they had chased each other for hours in the garden. But they also seemed happy and carefree.

Ichigo couldn't remember he'd seen the small photograph that night. Half frowning, half smiling he carefully stood up and took the picture from the broken frame. It seemed, his neighbour valued the snapshot, given by the heavy wooden frame protecting it. Still looking curiosly at the picture, Ichigo carefully turned right, halfway expecting more pieces of glass in the kitchen and living room. But it looked as if she hadn't stormed through that part of the apartment. Two wineglasses stood on the black marble counter, half emptied. But otherwise, nothing looked out of the ordinary, and more importantly, no blue-haired idiot lied behind the kitchen counter in his own blood. Stabbed to death or something like that.

Ichigo placed the photo attentively on the counter, right beside the glasses and turned back to the main corridor. The second door to the right was the bathroom, like in his home. Only the tiles were grey and blue, not like his bathroom which had a creamy white and green colour scheme. Nothing out of the ordinary in that room too. The last room to check was the one at the end of the corridor, leading to a bedroom. The door was a crack open, but no light was coming from it. Cautiously Ichigo opened the door fully, halfway expecting he wouldn't find something in there too. What he didn't expect was to learn something new about his neighbour.

Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez was very much alive and into bondage.

'This's like the start of a cheap porn! Fuckin' fuck!'

Ichigo screamed, internally. He should have called out when he had entered the apartment. It would have, at least, given him the opportunity to mentally brace for that sight. Not that Ichigo was disgusted with it in any way. Shocked? Maybe. But only because one of his darker desires was hauled from the deepest depths of his heart to the surface, and was presenting itself vividly. Tempting. Teasing. And yes, maybe there had been times when his mind had come up with all sorts of situations with the blue-haired man at his mercy. Ichigo wasn't a monk after all. He was young, and healthy, and sometimes needy. But all those dreams, all those pictures made up in his mind in those lonely, needy nights – they did not match with reality.

Ichigo's neighbour was tied to a simple wooden chair, legs in flesh tightly bound to the wooden legs of the chair. Three loops of a black, thick rope around each ankle, repeated shortly above his knee held the legs in place and spread them with no way to cover the more delicate areas. Further up the rope repeated its embracing slings, interweaved in knots and formed an intriguing diamond-shaped pattern all the way up a broad chest. His arms were bound on his back, three lines of black rope matching the binding on his legs were biting into the flesh of his strained biceps caused by the unnatural posture his tilted head forced his restrained body in. He obviously tried to, somehow, free himself. Or at least to get a better look on the tying knots in his back.

And she'd done a perfect job. Definitely, this wasn't a first time thing. Slowly walking into the room, Ichigo tried not to appreciate her work too much. But it was hard.

"Kurosaki."

The growling sound of his name stopped his appreciation, and his eyes focused on narrow, blue eyes in a sharp-angled face. If the restraining ropes had an impact, that voice even enhanced it. And Ichigo cursed himself for not only having not put on any shoes, but no underwear too. But then the professional kicked in.

"Are you alright?", he heard himself asking, hoping he didn't sound and look as turned on as he felt. Goddamnit, why ropes? This was just unfair!

Grimmjow just tilted his head and, if that was even possible, narrowed his sideways glance even more. Huffing a strand of blue hair from his face, only to helplessly watching it falling back again, he chuckled with sarcasm.

"Does that look as if I'm okay? What the hell you're doing here?"

"She threw your keys at me, yelling something about you being a cock-loving sucker."

Ichigo almost could hear how the black slings worked their way deeper into the flesh when Grimmjow's muscles tensed up. Definitely, the chair's wood lamented and protested under the force that suddenly was caused by the blue-haired man's reaction. And it had an immediate impact on lower regions, regions which were only covered by a way too rough fabric. Ichigo slowly shook his head and tried to will away the growing sensations of his body.

Cautiously he made some steps into the room. Closing the distance between them, he couldn't help but feel like prey sentenced to a gruesome death. Jaegerjaquez's deep blue eyes watched every single move of him, followed him warily and narrowed down on him the closer he came. Ichigo tried not to give off any threatening vibes, decided to stay as calm and resolute as possible. Like he approached a wild creature on a rotten and frayed leash and not the leading star of his sleepless, sweaty and sticky nights.

The closer he came, the clearer it became that it was a good quality rope, already used a couple of times, therefore pliable and smoothly biting down on flesh. And the knot-work was pure art. Kneeling down at Grimmjow's side, ignoring the blue fire from hell thrown at him, he took a deeper look. Nope, he had no fucking clue where to start to untie the delightful piece of art. Or rather, why he should untie the rope, to begin with.

With his eyes focused on bound wrists and clenched fists, Ichigo reached out. Hesitantly but controlled. Suppressing any trembling in his own hand and fingers he softly tipped white turned knuckles, expecting all hell to break loose upon his touch. But surprisingly his neighbour reacted the way intended. Fists unclenched, Grimmjow's long fingers reached out and grasped for Ichigo's. Warm and strong.

"Feet are worse," the blue-haired man mumbled without looking at Ichigo.

Ichigo slightly nodded and then stood up. In the process of unfolding his hunched posture, his hand stroked along strained muscles, felt them twitching and rolling. Completely unintentionally. Or so he told himself. Towering over the other and staring into a face that showed off a murderous expression Ichigo wasn't even sure he really had heard that muffled, moan-like sound the other had ushered upon his touch. Casting his eyes away from Grimmjow's, he sighed with a fake annoyance.

"Any knives I could use?"

"Sure," came the straightforward and sharply hissed answer, "in the drawer to your left, right beside the socks."

Ichigo's body had already turned to the left side before his brain kicked in.

"Kitchen," Ichigo growled frowning, "I'm back right away. Just don't –".

"Don't what? Go away?"

The smug grin on the bound man's face almost split it in two. A disapproving snort later, Ichigo was on his way back to the kitchen.

 

* * *

 

"Took you long enough to find a knife!"

Ichigo took a deep breath and glared at the other with what he hoped would show off annoyance.

"Yes. Who stacks his knives at the drawer furthest away from any working block anyway?", he growled while stepping closer.

Blue eyes got a bit wider, showed off surprise and then a glimmer of amusement.

"You know," huffing his bangs from his view again, Grimmjow turned his head to face him, "there is a knife-block right beside the sink. For the knives I use daily. That one I only use when I have to butcher something!"

Ichigo looked startled down at his side and realised he had indeed taken the most giant knife he could find. The handle wasn't even a handle, just the plain tang with some white cloth wrapped around it. No bolster or shoulder kept the hand wielding it from slipping on the blade - a very sharp looking knife.

"Beside the sink, hu?", he growled irritated.

"Yes. In plain sight and all ranges. And now I ask myself if I have to fear for my manhood when you're distracted enough to not see it," the blue-haired man snickered.

Weighing the blade in his hand, Ichigo looked at his neighbour and then back at the knife in his hand. A trembling hand, he realised. He let go of his breath and closed his eyes. He could do this, he told himself. Although he felt every little fibre of his body being tense. Anticipating something, anything. And it would be so fucking easy, but oh so terribly wrong.

Opening his eyes again, he willed down every spark of excitement his body came up with. It didn't work. Seeing his neighbour watching him with wondering eyes and a - to Ichigo's astonishment - completely relaxed posture didn't help. And again, Ichigo felt as if their roles were switched. As if he was the one bound to that chair. And it seemed as if the other had realised it, lightyears ago. But certainly, by the second Ichigo had entered the bedroom the second time.

"Okay, this is," Ichigo sighed and tightened his hold on the knife, "this is hard -".

A smug grin crossed Jaegerjaquez's face, and he hummed approving while his blue eyes were glued to a place they really shouldn't look at that close.

"Oh for fuck's sake, Jaegerjaquez! I'm trying to tell you we should handle this like the adults we are!"

A small, blue brow raised in question, yet his grinning smile didn't vanish.

"All right, all right. I promise I'll ignore your," he rolled his head from one side to the other, "excitement, as long as you promise not to cut me with that knife."

"I know what I do, moron!" Ichigo spat back while kneeling down in front of the man.

"Sure you know. There's just a tiny little difference between a scalpel and a deba, doc."

Ichigo's head snapped up, and he stared disbelieving into Grimmjow's face. A face too close to his own. With tempting lips, slightly curled into a smile. When had he managed to lean that much forward? Amusement glittered in those incredible blue eyes, and Ichigo felt again trapped.

"Leg, Doc. It starts to get numb!"


	2. Hors-d'oeuvre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That said, he turned away to free Grimmjow's other ankle, abruptly stood up and stepped behind the chair. Grimmjow's eyes and head followed the movement of the other, warily and not knowing what he really was expecting. But strangely realising, he might have developed a new kink. Or was it because it was Ichigo? Would he had let Cara - and that bitch had to explain some things - do the same thing to him? Maybe not. Most certainly not.

"I'm not a doctor anymore, just a paramedic!"

Kurosaki's voice sounded tired as if he had repeated that sentence over and over again. Underneath that tiredness Grimmjow clearly could hear some heartfelt anger. As if his neighbour had to justify his choice of profession in the past. And for a second or two Grimmjow wondered why. It almost felt, as if Kurosaki felt the urge to play down his profession. Which was ridiculous. From Grimmjow's point-of-view, there was probably nothing more noble and selfless than to choose a job that helped saving a life. Because, without those women and men, Grimmjow surely wouldn't be around anymore. So, paramedic, nurse or doctor, it did not —

'Anymore? What does he mean with anymore?'

The question lingered on his tongue, but somehow he couldn't voice the thought. Two blinks later Grimmjow watched fascinated - and maybe a bit shocked - how the trembling in his orange-haired saviour's hand vanished and was replaced by cold professionalism. One firm grip on his thigh stopped a slight twitching, cold steel slipped effortlessly under the black rope and with just one move the knife sliced through the binding.

Grimmjow wasn't sure whether it was the warm hand or the cold steel, touching his burning skin, which caused his heart to pump faster. Maybe both of it. But definitely, the goosebumps all over his skin was caused by those long fingers stroking along his calf down to his ankle. Oh to hell with it. Who was he kidding? Goosebumps did not - to no extent - match his reaction. Kurosaki's only response was a disapproving snort and a glance lingering a tad too long on a certain area to just call it a simple, indifferent glimpse.

"Can't help it, it's an adult thing," Grimmjow grunted, slightly amused, despite the unfortunate situation he was stuck. His neighbour really tried hard to look as unimpressed as possible. Yet, he failed again and again.   
  
"Put a lid on it!" was all Kurosaki hissed, while he wrapped his hand around the rope that held Grimmjow's ankle in position. With a single move, the blade once again sliced through the restricting material and Grimmjow sighed relieved, eyes closed and honestly grateful for finally being able to move his leg again. He wasn't prepared though for what he saw when he opened his eyes again.  
  
Kurosaki still kneeled between his legs, still held that blade - one of the first quality knives Grimmjow had bought and yet, somehow had managed to break the handle of it years ago - and he simply looked breathtaking mesmerising. Grimmjow couldn't tell what was more intriguing. The slight pink blush spread on his neighbour's face, the faintly visible trembling of lean and athletic arms, the almost rapidly rise and fall of a chest Grimmjow only knew too well was decorated with an intriguing tattoo or those warm brown eyes which turned every single coherent thought in his mind to ashes. He felt stunned, paralysed even. As if the world had stopped to rotate. Forever.

He had felt like this from the moment that lean yet well trained, scowling and somehow lost young man had entered 'Sexta's Corner', had sat down at the bar and had ordered - to Grimmjow's surprise - a dark ale and a shot single malt. Honestly, Grimmjow had thought he would order something as outrageously coloured as that spiky orange mop framing that scowling face. But then, who was he judging? He was drinking a coffee, in his own bar. A coffee! By the time that mysterious new customer had ordered his third ale (and fifth shot), Grimmjow joined in. And he, partially, blamed it on the alcohol - but by the love for his own life, he couldn't remember how he had ended with that intriguing stranger in his very own flat. He sure as hell remembered that first kiss, all tongue and teeth. Demanding, burning, fierce. A foreboding promise. Drowning all surrounding sounds until there was nothing more to be heard than the rhythmic pounding of his heart, ecstatically growing faster and faster.   
  
Sighing, Grimmjow cast his eyes away. He needed to concentrate on something else, to think of a cute little kitten or something. Anything that would replace that strangely colourful, lively memory of what had happened after they had left Sexta's Corner together. Memories of that one night - or rather said early morning - when Grimmjow had been devoured with much the same brown eyes which watched him right now.   
  
"You're not helping to keep the lid on," Grimmjow, therefore, grunted in agony.   
  
"Sorry, this isn't easy for me too," the orange-haired man answered with a husky voice, and Grimmjow dared to glance at him again, questioning.   
  
Kurosaki just tilted his head to not meet his scrutinising gaze and then slightly waved his hand.   
  
"Can't help but to appreciate her craftsmanship," he mumbled with a sly smile on his lips.   
  
Turning his head back slowly, Kurosaki's brown eyes wandered all along Grimmjow's chest and down his abs, followed every little knot and twist of black rope made on his skin. And maybe, only maybe, Grimmjow flexed his muscles intentionally whenever his neighbour's eyes were glued too long on a junction of rope.   
  
The further down his eyes trailed, the deeper his blush got. But then Kurosaki's eyes snapped back and locked with his own. And Grimmjow's breath hitched, maybe his heart even stopped pounding, but surely he was going to die right now.   
  
His neighbour held his gaze, the warm and brown and very much appreciating eyes suddenly showed off a resolve, and maybe a strike of cruelty, Grimmjow never before had noticed. The steel of an inhumanly sharp butcher knife caressed his skin, slid under the rope and cut it off – all done in one single, fluid motion. Without batting an eyelash or losing his gaze.

If Grimmjow hadn't been paralysed by this near-death-experience, and those almost golden shimmering brown eyes, he surely would have used his free leg to teach the other a lesson. But a suppressed, strangely growling and anticipating whimper was all that came from the stunned blue-haired man.

Wide-eyed, he stared at Ichigo. His lips twitched, and a shy smile blossomed on his face, even reached those eyes Grimmjow couldn't let go.

"I'm sorry," the orange-haired still kneeling in front of him stammered lowly, "I - I couldn't resist. Promise, it won't happen again!"

That said, he turned away to free Grimmjow's other ankle, abruptly stood up and stepped behind the chair. Grimmjow's eyes and head followed the movement of the other, warily and not knowing what he really was expecting. But strangely realising, he might have developed a new kink. Or was it because it was Ichigo? Would he had let Cara - and that bitch had to explain some things - do the same thing to him? Maybe not. Most certainly not.

Funny enough, though, it had been Grimmjow's idea. To play the part he usually wouldn't play. To take on a role he usually thought wouldn't fit his personality. Relentless Stubbornness mixed with immense pride - that was an explosive cocktail you shouldn't serve as the submissive partner. Something like this had been Cara's answer when he had suggested this kind of game. And honestly, he knew it. Still, since that night, he was chasing after something. Something he couldn't name clearly. Couldn't find in neither of his partners.

Grimmjow hadn't heard her coming back, and honestly, after that drama, he didn't expect Cara to come back. Ever. So he was thinking of how he would get himself freed from his position. And although he didn't like it, he had come to the point to let gravity do its thing. To rock the chair, he was bound to until there was enough of a momentum to fall. Hopefully, gravity and his weight would be enough to shatter the chair to pieces. He just would have to make sure he would not tumble on his back. That would hurt the most. One of the sides, that wouldn't be as harmful.

Somewhere along the line, he had felt it, that creepy shudder, crawling up and down his spine. Someone, or something, was with him in his room. And he really didn't expect it to be Cara – but his neighbour? There was no doubt that spiky crown and athletic body in that doorframe, illuminated from a dim light in his back, was Kurosaki. How the hell? Why was he here? And why, for fuck's sake, did Grimmjow's mind blank out? Thankfully, the grey mass in his skull came back to life when Kurosaki came closer, stepped from the shadows into the light the single bulb on the ceiling cast on to this surreal scenery.

His movement was silent, almost predator like. His bare feet were gliding effortlessly across the dark, wooden floor. Dark-blue denim covered legs which long ago had been tangled up with Grimmjow's. Kurosaki had put on a grey shirt, mindlessly it seemed, because buttons and buttonholes did not match. The hems of the sleeves had been rolled up, the one on the left a bit further up then the other. A slight trembling in clenched fists was sign enough for Grimmjow to assume that his neighbour's muscles were as tense as his own. But the one thing that agitated Grimmjow the most was Kurosaki's expression. A bitten lip, a flaring nose and eyes fully blown with desire. He looked like he had forgotten time and space. And if his movement seemed to be that of a silent killer, the look in his eyes was proof enough to seal that deal. It stirred the bound man's anticipation, his agitation, his everything. He wanted to fall prey to that predator the same way he wanted to fight and flee the situation.

A small, reassuring touch on his shoulder interrupted Grimmjow's pondering suddenly. Goddamnit, why the hell was he twitching like a virgin caused by this simple touch? Unintentionally he tried to pull away from that hand which seemed to heat his skin. Only, the rope appeared to burn right into his flesh, deeply. A searing that was both scaring and sweet the same time.   
  
"Not helpful!" was all Grimmjow hissed through his teeth, while he was staring at the open door and down his corridor. Cute little kittens wouldn't do it. Maybe, if he trained his eyes on something real, he could suppress that arousing feeling. Could stop that blood rush down south. Was he seeing his old coat stand dividing the corridor diagonally somewhere further away?

The biting pinpricks in his freed legs almost made Grimmjow lose his mind. Still, it helped to stay in the now and then and not to wallow in memories again. Grimmjow really wished he could scratch away those tiny bolts of lightning firing up in his nerves and muscles. To massage some blood into his stupid legs. Or to relief —

"Has she shattered something on her way out?" he asked sheepishly. Idiot. He was bound to a chair, not deaf. He fully was aware that, on Cara's dramatic exit, something had broken to pieces. The mirror, most likely.  
  
"Hmm," the weight of the hand on his shoulder got heavier, pushed his shoulder slightly down. Kurosaki leaned in, lips almost touched his ear, and Grimmjow's body went stiff.  
  
"Listen, I can cut the part where it is latched on to the chair. But I rather untie the rest by hand," Kurosaki mumbled right into Grimmjow's ear. Did his voice falter?   
  
Grimmjow grunted and stretched his legs. Again, those pinpricks helped him to stay focused. But the blood circulation was almost back again, nerves almost fully recovered. The fading storm of needle bites soon enough wouldn't be able to fade out his memories.   
  
"You sure you're not indulging your vice here? Make it last longer so you can enjoy yourself even more?", Grimmjow snorted. Maybe, if he used his ‚charming 'personality, the other would not notice how much he wanted that hand to linger on his shoulder. Glancing to his side to catch some spiky orange strands barely covering eyes full of desire, Grimmjow realised his biting remark had no effect on the other.   
  
"Could be," the smile, right under does eyes Grimmjow could drown in, got wider, "but, d'you have another choice?"   
  
A low snarl was all Grimmjow mustered as a response. The hand on his shoulder suddenly vanished, but not without having dragged nails faintly over his skin. The shudder running down Grimmjow's spine was electrifying. The memory popping up in his mind too intense. Nails, digging into his flesh, scratching along his neck, his shoulders, leaving marks for days.

"You do enjoy this way too much," Grimmjow growled, irritatedly torn between lust and embarrassment, amusement and mortification.

A low chuckle jumped from wall to wall, then the blue-haired man suddenly felt the restriction on his arms vanishing. Not entirely, but the strange position they were held in was loosened. A movement at his feet let him focus his eyes down to his toes. His knife was placed directly beside his right foot, sharp edge pointing away.

"Wanna tell me how it came to this predicament?", Ichigo's voice from behind him asked with a still lingering amusement in it.

Grimmjow went rigid the second the meaning behind the casual question bore itself into his musing brain. He felt trapped. Caught stealing, like that time lightyears ago when his stepfather had beaten the shit out of him because he'd taken the much-needed money from his pockets. Instinctively he tried to get away, to tear away from his still bound wrists from his neighbour's light touch. He couldn't tell him —

"Okay, okay. Stop it!"

Ichigo's voice calmed him. The light touch instantly got stronger, warm and reassuring hands clamped around his forearms, right under his elbows, steadied the movement. "The knots are going to tighten the more you try to free yourself. Just bear with me a couple of minutes, will you?"

Maybe it was the firm grip on his arms, perhaps the suddenly quiet professional tone of Ichigo's voice or the realisation he had no other choice that soothed Grimmjow. But his tense muscles relaxed and - huffing strands of blue hair from his view - he leaned back into the chair.

For some time neither of them spoke. The only sound in the room was that of rope pulled through rope and occasionally some squeaky noises from the wooden chair whenever Grimmjow shifted his weight a bit.

His mind started to wander again, thirty minutes back, maybe. To that time, he had killed the mood with just one single name. A name that had left his lips before he even had realised it wasn't Cara's. And, given by the baffled look on her face, she had been as surprised as Grimmjow. That look had changed into something hurt. Like a deadly wounded animal. And Grimmjow almost pitied that look, almost wanted to apologise for his stupid mentioning of a name. But then, as fast as this emotion had erupted from her innermost, it vanished and was replaced by something quite alarming. Still wounded, but a hell lot deadlier then Grimmjow wished for.   
  
The predicament, as Ichigo had called the bizarre situation they were in, was caused by Grimmjow's stupidity. He had lost himself in a vivid dream, recalling the touches, the smell and sound of another person. With eyes closed, it had been easy enough to imagine his orange-haired neighbour. And to his own surprise, he had whispered his name. And although he had hoped he hadn't said it too loud, one look on Cara's face was enough to tell him, she'd heard him.

He couldn't tell Kurosaki the truth - at least not the whole truth. That would be too embarrassing, too vulnerable, Grimmjow told himself. But the silence was getting as uncomfortable as the restrained sitting position he was in.

"Might be I suggested the wrong safeword," he therefore grumbled. Hell, that wasn't even a lie, Grimmjow thought quite proud. Cara hadn't been too happy upon hearing that word, but it wasn't the reason she had suffered a minor stroke and had left raging.

The pulling of rope stopped for a second, but then his neighbour started to work on the knots again as if nothing had been said.

"Isn't it better to agree on a safeword before you're tied to a chair. What was it, cock-loving sucker?"

Again, he tried to fake a lack of interest. But - again - the casual tone the question was asked with couldn't completely hide a slight amusement, and Grimmjow felt his own lips twitch into a small grin.

"Lewd," he chuckled, "and a bit too complicated, don't you think? Naa, it's Strawberry!"


	3. Entree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First kiss and a dreaded revelation

The sound falling from Ichigo's lips was a peculiar mixture of growling and whimpering. And he wasn't sure whether or not it was caused by the nickname he hated so much or because the last sling of rope finally fell from his neighbour's wrists. Maybe both of it?

Ever since they had met again, and Grimmjow had realised they were living door to door, he had started to call him that. A nickname that had been, in Ichigo's teenage-years, more than just once the reason for bleeding noses, severe bruising and once or twice a broken rib or damaged kneecap. But he was an adult now, right? He should be able to overhear it, to not react to it. But still, Ichigo hated it. Because Grimmjow was calling him Strawberry on almost every occasion, that only meant the blue-haired idiot must remember his name. He obviously just had been in such a hurry to flee his own flat the morning after that he hadn't had the time to entirely write out his name on that shitty, insulting note he'd left behind.

Forgetting about his now freed neighbour, Ichigo was startled to see Grimmjow stretching his arms to the sides and working his joints with a deep and satisfied sigh until he finally stood up. Ichigo's eyes followed the movement, and again he literally traced every thin, embracing sling of rope that was used to knot a tight and very intriguing harness covering his neighbour's torso. He somehow had problems though to name the shape. It wasn't a one-to-one recreation from a book, or, god forbid, a video-tutorial. No, she definitely had a lot of experience and had used at least three ropes and a very unique knotting-technique. A masterly work, really.

Although, Ichigo probably wouldn't have used that kind of seal. A thick, knotted hank of ropes ran along Grimmjow's spine, from the centre of his shoulder blades to his lower back where it ended right above the sacrum. If she had planned for a more extended session, this meant Grimmjow would have had it quite uncomfortable.

'And you bother because?'

This was none of his business. Maybe he had wanted it that way? But it was borderline destructive, not only for the body but certainly for the mood too. The pressure on his spine, whenever he would lean back or just tried to relax, would be a maelstrom of burning pain. At least after some time.

Thankfully, the single sling around Grimmjow's throat and neck was loosely tied and was held in place on his chest. She probably had used a second rope to secure the sling and to form the intriguing diamond-shaped pattern on his chest. Some kind of safety measures to not have him choking to death.

Which was kind of hilarious since Ichigo was on the verge to strangle the blue-haired devil. Strawberry? That fucking moron used every little opportunity to stir his anger, wasn't he?

"Strawberry, hu? Never thought of her – or you – as the fruity type," Ichigo snarled while he slowly stood up.

A low chuckle vibrated in Grimmjow's chest, and then, with a smug glance over his shoulder, he bent down.

Ichigo's heartbeat stopped, then and there. It was a completely intentional move. Damn it, what a perfect ass! He simply couldn't tear his eyes away. Suddenly Ichigo realised, while his heartbeat came back to life with a slight hiccup, his neighbour had reached for the knife – Deba as he had called it – and was weighing it in his right hand. Maybe he was evaluating the pros and cons of murdering the man that came to his rescue. Or something like that.

His muscles tensed and unintentionally Ichigo made a small step back. His hands clenched to fists, he narrowed his eyes on his neighbour, fully alerted and ready to strike back if needed. But Grimmjow just slightly shook his head, as if he wanted to get rid of an idea. Then his grip on the knife got stronger while he carefully pushed the blade under the first string of black rope and let the sharp edge slide effortlessly through the material. He repeated the move again and again, without even bothering to look at Ichigo.

Grimmjow had turned to his right side for more light. His unnatural bright blue hair, bangs hanging in his face, almost became white through the illumination. Eyes focused on what he was doing, he didn't catch Ichigo's staring. Or so the orange-haired man hoped. Every time the blade slide under a sling, the muscles in his right arm tensed slightly. With every slight twist of his astonishingly slender wrist, the adjoining muscles twitched and rolled. It was like – helplessly – watching the release of a beast. Which was silly, Ichigo tried to persuade himself. But, he failed. Hard. It wasn't helpful either that the other was freeing himself with steady and precise moves. His breathing controlled and calm. Therefore, with every string that fell down and gave more freedom to Grimmjow, it felt as if an invisible rope was slung around Ichigo's chest, his wrists, his ankles. He simply couldn't move. Couldn't tear his eyes away. Couldn't control the physical reaction his body came up with. The electrifying jolts up and down his spine, the involuntary trembling of his hand, the heat rushing through his veins, culminating into a throbbing, growing —

"Hasn't your mommy told ya it's rude to stare?"

The searing, hot cheeks must have made him look like a goddamn virgin, but at least his blood wasn't rushing southwards anymore. Ichigo felt awkwardly relieved and trapped the same time. Why was it this man had such an impact on him?

"Wait!"

Ichigo's voice stopped the knife-wielding hand from doing whatever dangerous thing it was about to do, and then his neighbour warily turned his eyes on him.

"And don't drag my mother into this!"

That blade was too close to any vital parts, and somehow, Grimmjow looked as if he was lost in his thoughts. So far, he had managed to not slice apart that slightly tanned skin, but right now he looked as if he was on autopilot. Maybe he wouldn't mind just another scar on that body. After all, he obviously had no problem with that large scar zigzagging across his torso. But as far as Ichigo was concerned, he simply had seen too much blood in the last couple of hours.

"I'm able to cut the rope with my own knife, you know!", Grimmjow hissed, with a slightly annoyed streak in his voice, still glaring at Ichigo with murderous intent in his eyes. Still holding that fucking sharp edge too close to his throat.

"That might be so, but I was literally wading through gallons of blood last night. If I can avoid just another unnecessarily spilt drop —".

Why did his feet feel as if they weighed a fucking ton? Why did it take him a fucking eternity to close the short distance between them? And why, for heaven's sake, did he felt paralysed the second he looked into his neighbour's eyes?

Finally, he lowered that knife from his throat. Ichigo should have felt relieved, but somehow, the relaxation did not come. He still stared into those deep blue eyes, trapped by their colour and concentration. He still felt as if every move cost him a mountain of strength. Only when the hand, still holding that Deba as if it was about to cut through flesh and bones, was lowered further, Ichigo could let go of those mesmerising eyes.

Casting his eyes away from that sharp-angled face to a broad chest, Ichigo watched his own hand reaching for that last knot still untouched. It was the one immobilising the sling around Grimmjow's throat, which prevented the rope from drawing tighter whenever he'd have moved. Without even realising it, his other hand had reached for Grimmjow's hand. His fingers spread around a wrist, holding back any not so unintentional movement, the second the fingers of his other hand tightened the hold on the last knot and pulled his neighbour's torso closer.

"Bow your head a bit, will you? So I can sling that last string over your head."

Ichigo wasn't quite sure what the look he got was meant to say. Hate? Anger, maybe? But probably it was more a look full of reluctant stubbornness. Ichigo sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Please, bow. Your stupid head's too big, I can't get the sling over it otherwise."

Grimmjow's lips twitched to a sly smile.

"Are you saying I'm the taller one?"

"Only by inches. And that doesn't make you any better. Or wiser!"

Ichigo pulled stronger on that rope, just to make a point. The black, interwoven material felt warm and pliable. It was really a shame he had cut it to pieces, he thought with a deep sigh. The diamond-shaped pattern had left small, thin and slightly red marks on Grimmjow's torso, ones he itched to trace with his fingers. And more so he ached to touch that smooth skin, to feel the blood rushing beneath it, to get the proof he touched something warm, breathing and very much alive. Not like the past few hours.

To his surprise, Grimmjow bowed his head. Lowly snorting, but still. The move brought his lips achingly close to a fabric-covered shoulder. Just one slight turn of his head and his lips would find naked skin, barely able to cover the frantically jumping and pumping blood vessel beneath it, Ichigo realised with a slight horror. Even more embarrassing was the fact, that Ichigo wished for that little move, hoped to feel those lips again on one of his sweetest spots. To feel those teeth nibbling on his skin.

"Get done with it already!"

Grimmjow's voice was low and somehow muffled, but it still had a demanding edge in it. A sound that let Ichigo remember of those whispered demands and roughly ushered promises of what would come next, back from that one night he tried to forget so desperately. It had been a mistake. A very satisfying mistake, but, that didn't make it any better. He had used that same voice to tease him, up to the point Ichigo had lost control and had slammed his lips on a stranger man. Pushed him back into the wall, rough and hard and —

Ichigo held on to that last knot and rope as if his life depended on it. As if it was a magical seal that was immobilising a blue-haired monster from attacking him, where it was, in reality, just a single sling, and completely useless. He always had wondered who had made the first step. And to be honest, he, mostly, had thought it had been his neighbour. Ichigo wasn't known to verbalise his thoughts. Or wishes. Or desires.

Grimmjow backed off a bit, so he could have a better look on Ichigo's face. An amused surprise greeted Ichigo, a small blue eyebrow raised, lips pulled to a little grin. And he himself probably looked, once again, like an embarrassed teenager.

"He, he kicked us out. Suggested something like it's time to get a room. And that he only would help me this one time. Or something like that."

"Shawlong? Yeah, he looks pretty decent, but that totally sounds like something he would say," Grimmjow answered with a little snickering sound escaping his lips, still too close to Ichigo.

They hadn't been that close since that night, Ichigo realised. And maybe it was this proximity, or the blue-haired's very own scents, but somehow Ichigo suddenly remembered what had happened.

 

* * *

 

Standing in front of the pub they had been kicked out from, the cold February night almost cleared his thoughts again. Almost. At least he felt sober enough to walk a couple of streets till he would find a cab or a landmark he would remember. Sure, it hadn't been the wisest decision to get a drink – or was it four? – on one of the first nights at his new place. But, opening boxes filled with reminiscents of a past life? Completely lonely? That had been too depressing.

The clicking noise of a Zippo uncapping and the unmistakable sound of gas getting burned let his eyes turn to his right side. Blue eyes got lit up. It almost looked as if that small light of the flame was deflected by two sapphire-like gems – which was silly!

'As if eyes could do that! Get a hold of your stupid drunken mind, Ichigo Kurosaki!'

"What's up?"

When he had decided that unpacking the boxes could wait, he had realised that, of course, his fridge had been as empty as a beggar's wallet. So, he had left his new apartment and had strolled the streets, until he no longer knew, where he was. Or even had had that one beer only. And then he had seen it, a blue neon light sign, announcing "Sexta's Corner", above a door that did not look that much inviting. But, it promised that drink he really started to long for. Considering he still needed to find his way back home, in a surrounding Ichigo wasn't familiar with, he had promised to himself that it would be only one drink. Until he saw that handsome, pleasantly looking, mysteriously young lad. 

Who was he kidding? That description was fitting for the leading character in one of the novels his little sisters had been reading in their teenage years. Or so he hoped. Right? They hadn't read about grown-up men, with sinful long legs, the right amount of muscles, sculpted like a fucking greek statue, with dazzling blue eyes and even bluer hair and oozing that bad-boy-attitude every man and woman would fall prey too. They hadn't fantasised about getting done by such men until they weren't able to think a coherent sentence. Or walk straight. Oh god, please not. Those novels were just about romance. Right, pure platonic love!

The handsome looking guy from next door, turning into a demonic little devil, that was Ichigo's cup of tea. Not his sister's. And most of the time he was that sweet, kind guy from next door you would ask to take care of your kitten or water the plants when you were on holiday. Most of the time. And yes, he had tried sex with women, and mostly he'd liked it. But that blissfully satisfaction he got when he felt muscles as hard as his own, strength matching his own, an edgy, rough body trying to overpower his - that he only found in another man, with, preferably, a bad-boy-attitude.

Just like the one who looked at him right now. Grimm-something. Freshly lit cigarette clinging on thin lips stretched to a sassy grin. Eyes questioning. Right, hadn't he – Grimm-jaw? No, no, wasn't it Joe? – he asked him something?

"Ah, it's nothing. Just a silly idea," Ichigo answered, desperately hoping his voice didn't sound as sluggish as his alcohol-drenched tongue felt like.

The grin got fuller, and then Grimm-something turned around to face Ichigo. Tilting his head a bit and dragging a deep breath from his cigarette, he looked him up and down. Eyes still with a questioning look.

"I just was thinking about my sister's novels. The one they were reading as teenagers... and why am I telling you this anyway?"

"I don't know, but, enlight me, pretty please!"

The last words were dragged into a long, faked whining and the already wide grin got even wider. It had looked sexy first, but the broader it had gotten, the creepier that grinning smile became. Ichigo could wipe out that grin, for sure.

"Ah, to hell with it. I just pray to every god I know, they hadn't the same impure thoughts as I have right now."

A blue eyebrow slightly raised up, wondering eyes scanned Ichigo's face from chin to hair and back again. Lingered a heartbeat too long on his lips, which suddenly felt as if they were on fire.

"I really think about how good it would be to fuck you!"

Instead of seeing that grin crumble to a disgusted grimace, Ichigo watched him go into a laughing fit. It was a burst of infectious laughter, deeply rumbling, warm, somehow heartfelt. And it stirred body parts which shouldn't react. At least not that way. Finally, the laughter ebbed down and – Grimm-shaw? Ah to hell with it! – Grimm approached him.

"Bold of you to assume I let you do me! Besides, aren't you skipping some bases here? What about shyly holding hands in public first? What about tenderly stolen ki—".

It was, most definitely, the alcohol in his system that erased every decency. But, Ichigo couldn't hold it back anymore. And to be honest, he was at a point, he really did not care anymore. With both hands, he grabbed for that magnificent sharp jaw and pulled the blue-haired man closer. Without even overthinking what he was doing, Ichigo slammed his lips on the other's, the hold from his probably cold hands getting stronger. Grimm seemed to be stunned, but not repulsed enough to jerk away from Ichigo.

Which stirred his boldness. Slamming his body into a still paralysed counterpart, Ichigo pushed Grimm back into the wall behind them. With his teeth nibbling on those lips, he tasted the sharp, bitter taste of nicotine, mixed with the sweet scent of a cheap Bourbon.

Somewhere in the deepest hidden convolutions of his brain, Ichigo was aware he was pushing his luck. But, as said, he was a point he did not care anymore. While his tongue pushed and draw those lips further apart, Ichigo realised he would be fine with either one of Grimm's reactions. Be it joining in or using those hands to teach him a lesson about crossing personal boundaries. And deep down, Ichigo practically hoped for a fight. He could use some fighting, with all the pent up frustration boiling in his system, it would be a heaven-sent release. Stupid, but effective.

But then Ichigo finally got a reaction, one he did not really anticipate. Snipping his burning cancer-stick away, Grimm's hand buried itself in Ichigo's spiky hair and – pulled him even closer. It was a fight, hell yes. But a sweet one.

When their lips finally parted, Ichigo felt ravished, relieved, turned on, even more frustrated than before, but the same time satisfied. He wanted more, but he restrained himself from attacking the other a second time. After all, having witnessed the blue-haired man's interaction with his surrounding the past few hours, it looked like he was more interested in either reading a newspaper or chatting with a busty green-haired woman at his side. Therefore, Ichigo thought, he would deal with his hard-on later, when back at his flat. While taking a long – very, very long – shower.

He was caught off-guard tough when Grimm leaned in again, lips caressing his neck, wandering softly along the exposed skin up to his ear.

"It seems," an abrasive voice whispered, "you're not the type to shyly hold hands or tenderly steal kisses."

Another delicate kiss on his ear and Ichigo's knees turned into the consistency of a milk-based dessert. As well as his determination, his rationality, upon hearing the next roughly whispered words.

"Just promise to be gentle, as you will be my first –".

 

* * *

 

Ichigo's hand let go of the rope, slipped down a toned chest until it came to rest at his side. Shocked, embarrassed and a tiny little bit stirred up he made a step back. His eyes widened as he realised for the first time what his subconscious dreaded since that morning after. He had been the one to initiate it. He'd done it. Again!

"For fuck's sake, don't tell me I was your first?"


End file.
